37,000 Miles High
by Fly Airbourne
Summary: Because what happens at 37,000 miles high, stays at 37,000 miles high. SLASH. John/Randy! Centon!


Title: 37,000 Miles High

Author: Candy_rko

Pairings: Randy/John

Summary: What happens at 37,000 miles high, stays at 37,000 miles high

Words: 2400

Warnings: SEX

Author's Notes: Inspired by Raw on 6/14. Could definitely live with seeing Centon tag team action. ;)

Chapter 1/1

John watched as Randy thumbed through Sky Mall Magazine, brows furrowed, lips pursed. He was being obvious. He knew. From the snickers and pointing he was receiving from Mike and Evan he was being _damn_ evident in his eye fuckery of Orton. It wasn't anything new. Everyone knew about his one sided attraction to the Viper. Well, everyone but Randy himself. He was painfully oblivious to matters of the heart. Or sex. Because Randy was practically _given_ sex on a silver platter in every city they went. Women, men, it didn't matter. Randy Orton was a walking orgasm. And John Cena was most assuredly not exempt from the statistics that claimed Orton as their sex god.

Those lips… John had fantasized Randy on his knees, mouth wrapped around John's cock, and goddamn, Randy would be _amazing_. He was full of such fire that it was a given it would trickle into the bedroom. That deliciously sculpted ass… In Randy's ring gear, nothing was left to the imagination. The faint outline of Randy's cock. The way, sometimes, that his spankies (because that sparse bit of material _could not_ be called trunks) rode up his ass cheeks, exposing just enough that John had to force himself to think of Jillian naked. The deeply bronzed, muscular body that seemed to be chiseled from marble. A Grecian statue. A flesh made god. There was no describing Randy Orton's physical beauty; he was above it all.

It had come to a point that John spanked the monkey before getting in the ring with Randy. How else could he explain the often sweaty, flushed appearance? It was impossible _not_ to be around Randy and not get aroused. And lately with how they'd been tag teaming in the ring… Well, needless to say it had been torture on John's soldier. He was nervous about Fatal Four Way when he'd actually be _against_ Randy. Feeling that hot, writhing, sweaty body against him. Gazing up at him from the ring, at those thick, corded thighs… Being pinned, having Randy slither against him…

John gnawed his bottom lip hard enough he was positive there was blood. His cock was demanding attention in his jeans, pressing insistently against the cotton of his briefs and the denim. And it was still another two hours before the plane landed.

Smothered laughter came from the seats across from him. Mike and Evan were laughing so hard tears were streaming their faces. Apparently his… _condition_ wasn't unnoticed by the resident perverts of the RAW roster. Leave it to the horny fucking nerds… He flipped them the bird. "Bastards," he mumbled, the two younger men grabbing their phones and pretending to be busy.

"Is there a joke I don't know about?" God, that deep, throaty voice that sent shivers down John's spine and curled his toes only made his cock throb incessantly.

"Oh come on, with those two? There's always a joke. They _are_ jokes," he shot them withering glares.

Randy nodded, corners of lips curling into a wan smile, "You ok there, Super Cena?"

"Not you too!" John whined, averting his eyes from gazing at Randy's crotch. Yeah… those mesh basketball shorts were clinging to parts of Randy that should have been illegal…

"I'm just messing with you. You're a little red. You sick?"

_No, I just want your dick in my ass. Oh and I have these amazing wet dreams that makes me feel like I'm fifteen again! Or about when I think of you naked, I cum so hard that I pass out?_ "I think I might've ate some bad steak," John lied, feigning disgust.

"Ah, man, that blows."

_Blows. Oh fuck me. He said blows. Yeah, I'd like those pretty cock sucking lips on my dick but that's not gonna happen. You'd probably chop it off. _"I'll be fine before tomorrow's show."

"Shit, I'm still pissed I can't be there," he gestured towards the arm that was in a sling. "I wanted to tag team with you. How was it? Partnering with Bourne instead of me?"

_I hated it. Sure, the kid's hot but he's not Randy Orton_._ "_He's amazingly athletic and his energy reflects mine. Plus, it's about time he gets air time." And Evan, the fucking eavesdropper, was turning all sorts of shades of pink at the praise.

"Oh. You prefer him?" John raised his eyes from looking at Evan to see a rare case of jealously flit across Randy's gorgeous face. The envy in those gray eyes was unmistakable. "Hey, you're still my number one choice. Always will be. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried about it," Randy snapped defensively.

"You're cute when you're angry."

"What?" his voice was deathly low

John's hands were covering his mouth. _No, I just didn't…_ But the look on Randy's face told him… "Um, look, Randy, don't take it that way. Just, um-" Randy was grabbing him roughly, jerking John to his feet, "Don't hit me."

Several of the other wrestlers were already beginning to rise to their feet, wary of the Legend Killer's mood, "I'm not going to hit you. Come with me!"

John couldn't protest, being dragged past first class, past the curtains that separated the sections. _He's going to kill me with a spork_.Irrational fear, yes, considering there were no weapons in sight but he couldn't suppress the violent shudder that wracked his frame as the bathroom door was flung open and he was shoved inside. "Oh god, you're going to break the mirror and gouge my eyes out!"

Randy rolled his eyes, gingerly removing his arm from his sling, letting it drop to the floor. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just… Look, it' s okay that you want me but I'm getting sick and tired of you mentally undressing me. It makes me uncomfortable."

"You know?"

"You're pretty fucking obvious, John."

John was against the tiny sink, the edge digging into his lower back. He was cornered with nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Randy stood between him and his escape. "I'm sorry. It kinda happened and I haven't been able to stop it and now that it's-"

"Shut up, John."

Lips were against his, a tongue running across his bottom lip. John couldn't suppress the moan, rolling his hips against Randy's groin, shuddering as he felt Randy's cock. Hard. The fact that Randy was just as aroused as John only made him hotter. Made his blood boil, made the serpent of lust uncoil in his loins. He'd fantasized about having sex with Randy numerous times on numerous occasions.

Having sex at 37,000 miles high had never fit into his wet dreams.

"This what you wanted, _John_?" his named rolled off Randy's tongue like silk. "Me. Touching you. Feeling you." He grabbed John's hand, forcing John to cup the bulge in his shorts, "This. In you."

_He's not wearing underwear_, was John's only thought, squeezing the throbbing shaft. He could feel a faint wet spot, getting a sick thrill that he was able to make Randy Orton come undone. "You want this," he stated, looking into stormy gray eyes.

"You're fucking Batman! You know? Kind of hard to make a move on a super hero."

"Uh, yeah, and I remember correctly Batman had Robin. Ya know, his _gay_ lover." "I'm _not _Robin," Randy scowled.

"Hey, _you_ wear the spankies. Not me."

Randy rolled his eyes, "We don't have much time in here and I'm not going to spend it arguing about Batman and Robin's homoerotic sex life. Either you're coming. Or you're going. It's your choice, John."

Uh, fuck no was John leaving. Not with his personal fantasy offering himself on a silver platter. John dropped Randy's shorts to the floor, gazing in appreciation at the thick, cut, completely shaven cock. (Because everyone knew what a narcissist Randy was.) John felt his hole twitch in anticipation of having that massive column of man meat pound him. God, he would have preferred this in a bed. Not cramped in an airplane bathroom.

"I don't want to wait. You're right. We don't have time. Fuck me." A sharp intake of breath and wide eyes. "John, we don't have to-"

"Randy. I've been waiting years for this. We can take longer next time." Suddenly, he was filled with dread. "Unless… There _will _be another time, right?"

"Yeah. I just… I wanted our first time to be semi-special. Not a quick fuck." "You're so sweet," John chuckled nervously, fingers trembling as he undid his jeans, face heating as the denim and cotton of his boxers piled at his ankles, leaving him bare and vulnerable to the Viper. "Randy."

"Turn around." John obeyed, ignoring how the sink was leaving imprints on his hips, feeling warm breath ghost his most intimate area. He jerked as that hot, sinful tongue licked erotically across his cleft. His cock jumped in response. He'd never had a lover do that before; it was considered too intimate of an act for one night stands. But here, the god of idolatry, was on his knees, giving him pleasure he'd never received. He could hear the tell tale noises of Randy pleasuring himself. He wanted to play voyeur, to see Randy in all his sexual, naked glory.

He pushed back against Randy's face, wanting to _more_, Randy's tongue inserting in and out like a small cock. "Randy, I… Oh, fuck," he moaned, a finger slipping inside. Stroking. Caressing. Fingering. His powerful thighs were quivering as he made himself stay still, to not buck against Randy. One hand trailed down his sculpted abdominal towards his engorged cock. The head was so wet, smeared with pre-cum, begging for a release that would come from the hands of Randy Orton.

Another digit was added to the first. Randy was going through the emotions like a pro. Scissoring. Stretching. Jealously threatened to rear its ugly green head, wondering exactly how many men that Randy been with in his past. "You're good."

"You watch enough gay porn and read enough erotica, you learn a lot," John could _hear_ the cheeky grin.

"Oh god, I can see you. Laid out on your bed, cock fisted in your hand, stroking it." John licked his lips, closing his eyes, loving the groan Randy emitted, "You're watching those men, wishing it was me. You finger yourself. Slow because you don't want to cum too quick. You want to imagine it's my hands in you. My hands touching your cock. My hands-"

"Enough!" Randy growled.

His cock was buried to the hilt in one solid thrust, filling John, making him burn with a barrier of pleasure and pain. Randy was throbbing in him, the other man's body thrumming like a taut guitar string against him. Randy was brutal, every bit as passionate and aggressive as John had always imagined, not giving him the time to adjust to the intrusion. Other lovers had been too gentle, afraid of damaging him, afraid of leaving evidence of their coupling. But not Randy. Fingernails were digging into his skin, leaving behind impressions that would be there for days to come. The pressure would guarantee bruises.

Their rough love making shook the cheap sink, rattled the fixtures. John opened his eyes, caught their reflections in the mirror. They were beautiful together. Perfect. And he really wanted to do this _surrounded_ by mirrors. Wanted to see _everything_. Randy brought out the exhibitionist in him.

Balls slapping against his ass. Flesh sliding against flesh. The heavy odor of sex clinging to the air; sticky, damp. "You're so fucking hot," Randy purred in his ear, "Touch yourself, baby."

He noticed that Randy's eyes followed his movement, watched him wrap his hand around his aching cock. Loved how those gray eyes were black with lust. Each muscle and tendon were bulging, the veins in Randy's neck protruding underneath the exertion. Sweat was trickling down that chiseled torso. John was sure he was going to cum from just _looking _at Randy. "Oh fuck yeah, John, keep doing that." He didn't care that he was mewling and whimpering like a goddamned slut, jerking himself off in sync with Randy's violent hammering against that sweet bundle of _fuck_ deep inside him that no other had been able to touch like that. The head of Randy's cock drove home each and every time, sparking the stirring of an orgasm that would leave all other climaxes in the dust.

Randy's name was a mantra spilling out of his mouth along with incoherent babble and gratuitous moans. He barely heard himself warn Randy that he was about to cum before his cock was pumping geyser after geyser of semen, the viscous fluid dripping down his hand, leaving a trail across his thigh.

John watched Randy's face contort with pure pleasure, deciding in that moment that there was nothing more he'd rather see for the rest of his then Randy Orton.

Wincing as Randy withdrew, John fought to return his breathing to normal, "That was… Randy…"

"What? It was amazing. What else could you expect from _me_?" Randy preened, wiping himself off with John's boxers, winking at John's outraged look. "Just go commando."

"Randy- I"

"HURRY UP!" a voice from the other side of the door had John's heart leaping to his throat.

"How the fuck are we gonna get outta here withouy everyone seeing us together!" John groaned, nose wrinkling in distaste as he used his own boxers to clean up with.

"I'll take care of it."

John was just zipping his jeans when the knocking stopped. He cast a look at Randy. "What'd you do?"

"Let's just say that Evan owes me. Go on. I'll follow behind you in a few minutes."

"Are sure this isn't a one time thing? That when we land you'll forget this-" His voice was muffled by Randy's mouth. He melted into the kiss. "Ok."

"You idiot. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm revoking my rematch clause once we reach the hotel." John's laughter filled the narrow aisle.

And somewhere, there were several muttered curses of Centon!


End file.
